


A Thousand Miles Away

by Spoodlemonkey



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Based off of the Panthers game tonight, Brief cameo by Mitch Marner, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:27:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22553998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spoodlemonkey/pseuds/Spoodlemonkey
Summary: Sometimes long-distance relationships seriously suck.
Relationships: Frederik Andersen/Connor Brown
Comments: 1
Kudos: 94





	A Thousand Miles Away

**Author's Note:**

> So the game tonight was super frustrating and now Freddie is injured- though apparently not terribly? No one's really sure... so some comfort for poor Freddie (and Connor) instead.   
> This was written quickly when I should be sleeping or working on the other 7k fic I have on going but oh well! Title from Hey There Delilah.
> 
> Unbeta'd so mistakes are my own. Otherwise, don't own.

Connor finds out through a text from Mitch halfway through dinner with a few of the guys. His blood runs cold as he reads and re reads the message, and then he’s stumbling to his feet, throwing out a hasty excuse as he heads for the nearest quiet spot. 

The cool night air does a little to clear his mind, enough to remind him that it’s fucking winter in Ottawa, despite the warm spell. He fumbles the keypad on his phone, has to try twice to pull up the familiar, well used contact. There’s a few people hanging out by the doors, far enough away to vape, curling clouds of smoke drifting lazily up into the air. He heads further away, closer to the parking lot and out of sight because if he’s about to have a fucking breakdown, he’d rather it wasn’t where everyone could see.

The phone rings through to voicemail. Heart in his throat he hangs up, pulls up a different contact and tries again.

Mitch answers on the third ring, sounding out of breath, like maybe he had to dive to answer his phone. There’s a lot of noise in the background and he realizes the boys must be getting ready for the second period. 

“Put him on.” He doesn’t give Mitch a chance to speak. 

_ “I’ll get one of the guys to take the phone to him,” _ Mitch promises, voice low and soothing, the kind he uses when tempers flare and he’s looking to avoid a fight. Connor hates having it used on him.  _ “They have him in the lounge, resting.” _ Connor’s stomach bubbles with nausea and he has to take a second to just breathe, eyes shut and hand clenched tight around his phone.

“Mitch,” his voice cracks. 

_ “He’s okay, I swear Connor,” _ Mitch hurries to assure him, offering him false platitudes that mean nothing when Connor is four hours away.

His eyes are burning, he realizes with horror and he scrubs the back of his hand over them. There’s more muffled voices coming through the phone but he ignores them for the moment, just tries to steady his breathing as his chest grows tight, throat sore. 

_ “Connor?” _ He actually lets out a sob at the familiar sound of Freddie’s voice, too late to muffle it, but he slaps a hand over his mouth anyways, afraid of what else might escape.  _ “Hey, I’m fine. Looked worse than it was.” _

God, Connor hasn’t even seen the footage of Freddie going down, only has what Mitch has told him. How much worse is the video going to be? 

_ “Talk to me,” _ just hearing Freddie’s voice is enough of a relief that it hits him hard enough to make his legs buckle and he finds himself sitting suddenly on the sidewalk at the edge of the parking lot staring out at the sea of cars.  _ “Don’t make me phone Enzo.” _

“Enzo would just yell at you,” for finishing the first period when he wasn’t feeling a hundred percent, for staying long enough for the second hit that might have done more serious damage.

_ “Is that what you’re doing?” _ Freddie asks. It sounds quiet in the lounge; Connor hopes that there’s a trainer near by keeping a close eye on him at least.  _ “Yelling at me?” _

“No,” Connor sighs, scrubs a hand through his hair, tugging at the gel there. He’d spent a while fixing it up today, had wanted to look good for dinner with his friends. It seems like a million years ago now, far off and unimportant in the face of things. “Fuck no. Just, tell me how you are. Honestly.”

_ “Sore.” _ Freddie gives him an honest answer, he can hear the pain and exhaustion leaking into his voice. He aches with the need to be there, to pull him into his arms and soothe away the worst of it as best he can.  _ “Tired. Going to play it by ear but it looks like it’s just a bad hit. Maybe some bruising. Should be back at practice in the morning.” _

“Do you want me to drive in? I can be there in a few hours.” He’s already climbing to his feet as he plans out what he’ll need to grab before he can go. Their apartment in Toronto still has a fair amount of his stuff, he’d just need to let the cat sitter know. “Keefe won’t miss you at one practice, we can sleep in tomorrow.” 

He has no plans on letting Freddie out of bed tomorrow, but he doesn’t need to know that.

_ “You have a game tomorrow night.” _

“The guys don’t need me,” he protests. “I can be your sexy nurse or something.”

That startles a laugh out of Freddie, the sound warm and familiar. It does more to ease the tangled ball of anxiety in Connor’s stomach than the rest of the conversation has. 

_ “I’m holding you to that,” _ Freddie promises, voice warm.  _ “Sponge bath and all. But the Sens do need you.” _

“And you don’t?” He means it to come across as playful, sarcastic, but he’s worried some of the insecurity he feels at the words slip through. 

_ “Always. But you’re first line babe, they need you more right now.” _

Connor leans back against the cool brick of the building. The chill is getting to him now, shivers racking his frame, fingers frozen, but he’s too stubborn to go back inside- feels too wiped to go back inside. Maybe he’ll just go home.

He has to bite his lip, eyes burning at the thought of home.

_ “Five days,” _ Freddie reminds him gently. It feels like an eternity, the five days stretched out before him, before he flies from Winnipeg to Toronto for their two days off and then off to Colorado to meet up with the rest of the team. He’s lucky he’s even allowed to do this, an afternoon game in Winnipeg, and their anniversary coming up during a stretch of away games. 

He thinks if he pressed, Smith would probably scratch him for tomorrow’s game, let him drive home to check up on Freddie himself, see for himself that he’s whole and mostly healthy. 

“Five days,” he lets his head fall back and breathes in the cool night air. “Is someone staying with you tonight?”

_ “Mitch and Matty. They’ve decided it’s a sleepover.” _ The image manages to pull a smile to his face- the guys sacked out in front of the tv in the ridiculous onesies Patty had given them for Christmas. 

“I want updates.”

_ “I’ll make them text you too.” _ Freddie assures him.  _ “Hey,”  _ he says, softer now.  _ “I would tell you if it was serious.” _

Connor nods, though he knows Freddie can’t see him. Serious or not, he hates it when he gets hurt, hates it even more now that he’s not there with him, can’t offer comfort. The distance hadn’t seemed as vast before reading that text from Mitch and realizing he wasn’t close enough if something serious were to happen. 

God, he was terrified.

“I love you,” he stares up at the night sky and searches for Orion. At least they share the same stars, he thinks wistfully. 

_ “Love you too,” _ there’s a pause and then,  _ “Want me to stay on the line for awhile?” _

“Will it hurt your head?” 

_ “Just a sore neck, I can put it on speakerphone.” _

Connor bites his lip. He really should be getting back inside to the others; they’re bound to come looking for him at some point with how he ran out of there. But he thinks he can almost make out the sound of Freddie’s steady breathing as he switches to the speaker.

“Just a while longer,” he agrees, settling in, warmed despite the cold.


End file.
